


a bird in the hand

by envysparkler



Series: Shifters [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shifters, Dick improvises, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Non-Sexual Submission, Pack Dynamics, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Dick comes home to a nasty surprise.(“How dare you give Robin to a wolf?”)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Shifters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995952
Comments: 64
Kudos: 944





	a bird in the hand

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what happened to my self-control, someone find it for me please.

Dick alternated between tapping the steering wheel and fidgeting with his free leg, eager to get back to the Manor. Home, despite all of his arguments with Bruce. Family, safety, warmth. And a new pack member to look forward to.

He still can’t believe Bruce didn’t _tell_ him. That Dick had to find out by waking up in the middle of the night to a sudden burning instinct and the solid certainty that the pack had grown. But Bruce’s impulsiveness really didn’t surprise him by now.

He wondered what the new kid was. Bruce had only told him the scarce details after Dick called him, heart still racing – boy, twelve, Jason Todd, picked him up from Crime Alley where the boy had the audacity to steal the _tires_ off the _Batmobile_ , Dick liked him already – and Dick had made the executive decision to return home to see his new little brother.

Maybe he was another bird. Dick loved to fly, and Bruce never wanted to join him, and Alfred _couldn’t_ join him, and it would be so much fun with another little chick, soaring through the Cave.

He managed a haphazard parking job in the garage, danced past Alfred’s disapproving look with a promise to come up for lunch, and headed for the Cave. Two voices echoed in tandem – Bruce’s gentle, patient tone and a younger, brasher voice – as Dick crept down the stairs.

The first person he saw was Bruce, the feeling of solid, safe, family despite their last raging argument, and then Dick spotted the kid. Dark hair, blue eyes – wow, Bruce certainly had a type there – and he was wearing a familiar costume –

Dick had to swallow down the first comment that came to mind – this was a kid, he didn’t need to hear the choice words that Dick intended for Bruce, because that was _his_ costume, and _his_ mother’s name, and _his_ pack’s colors – and forced a smile on his face. “Good morning,” he called out.

Bruce turned towards him, surprised, and the kid yelped and _shifted_.

Dick stared blankly at the spot where the kid had been.

Where the _wolf_ was.

Black as night. Fangs bared in a growl, hackles raised, eyes narrowed and burning.

“Dick –”

“How _could_ you.” The words felt like poison in his mouth. The world was roaring around him as something cracked and tore in his heart. The wolf wearing his name. The wolf wearing his colors. The _wolf_.

“Dick, you need to –”

“How dare you,” Dick spat out, whirling on Bruce. If he closed his eyes, he could still see it – see the dust brown wolf with a wide, malicious smile and two dead birds hanging from its mouth. “How _dare_ you give Robin to a _wolf_?”

“Dick,” Bruce growled, straightening, and Dick didn’t care that he was challenging the pack leader, he didn’t care that this was going to end badly.

“The last thing I have of my pack,” Dick hissed, “The very last thing. And you handed it over to one of _them_.”

It wasn’t rational. He knew that a large portion of shifters in Gotham were wolves. But knowing did nothing to the memory of his parents’ broken bodies, nothing to the wolfish grin on Zucco’s face, nothing to the bared-teeth snarl of the predator that was stealing Dick’s name.

“Dick,” Bruce snapped, “ _Enough_. Jason is a member of this pack and –”

“I will _not_ ,” Dick snarled, “Be in a pack with a wolf.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out, calling behind him, “You killed the last thing I had of my parents, Bruce. I hope you’re happy.”

* * *

Dick hadn’t ever intended to come back after that – made it exceedingly clear that as long as Jason wore Robin, Batman and his partner would not be welcome in Bludhaven or the Teen Titans, because both of those were _Dick’s_ and his pack leader couldn’t make him bow down from a different city – but Alfred had asked.

Politely.

And Dick had felt the weight of his disapproval through the phone and ducked his head and shuffled back to the Manor for a quick meet-up. Alfred had promised that Bruce wasn’t in town and so Dick had let down his guard, stepping into the Manor – into his _home_ – and making it almost all the way to the kitchen before he realized that the Manor wasn’t empty.

Dick had assumed that Bruce had taken Jason with him on his trip – there had been one heated phone call after Dick had stormed out, with Bruce biting out a story about the kid being pack-less, and more comfortable shifted than not, and still insecure on his place in the pack, and Dick had ignored the call as the guilt trip it was. He didn’t think that Bruce would’ve left Jason alone after all that, but there was a wolf glaring at him in the corridor and Dick froze.

A blur of movement, and the boy was standing where the wolf had been. “Hey, _Dickhead_ ,” Jason sneered.

Dick’s teeth ground together audibly. The kid had the nerve to smirk.

“Thought you weren’t coming back,” Jason scowled, crossing his arms and barring the way in an unsubtle display of territoriality, “Said you weren’t part of the pack.”

Dick had said that, but he hadn’t actually broken the ties, and the sight of the younger boy blocking off _his_ home and challenging him was enough to break the frayed knots on Dick’s temper.

“You’re not part of this pack,” Dick hissed, “Get out of my way.”

“Or _what_?” the kid sneered.

That was it.

Dick lunged – the kid skittered back a step, eyes widening in surprise, before Robin training took over and he blocked Dick’s attack, twisting around him. He was good – fierce, with the dirty fighting pressed into every street kid, and he’d clearly taken to Bruce’s training well – but Dick had about a foot and a half, several pounds, and years of vigilantism on him, it was a matter of seconds before he had the kid on the floor.

It was instinctive, a pack challenge, a younger shifter trying to claw up the pecking order, and Dick responded automatically – a hand clamping down on the back of the kid’s neck, fingers squeezing, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to trigger surrender.

“ _Stay down_.”

The kid went limp.

Dick dragged in a breath and exhaled slowly, until some of the haze had cleared from his eyes, the rage banking down to a simmer. Something inside of him soothed at defending his home, at meeting the challenge and ensuring that his place in the pack was no longer under threat, and Dick sighed as he rolled off of Jason.

He could’ve handled that better. He’d been angry and frustrated and itching for an excuse, but cocky or not, the kid was _twelve_ and Dick should’ve known he wasn’t a threat.

“Don’t challenge me again,” Dick snapped, straightening from his crouch. Alfred wasn’t going to be happy about this and Dick huffed out an irritated breath at his tea time being ruined. He shouldn’t have come back to the Manor. He shouldn’t have –

The kid wasn’t moving.

Dick froze. “Jason?” he called out, something stirring inside of him, screaming about pack in danger, and Dick hastily scrambled back to the younger boy’s side.

He had been careful not to hurt him, he’d used a simple takedown, he hadn’t let Jason’s head hit the floor, why was the kid not moving –

“Jason?” Dick repeated quietly – the kid was shivering but he was still limp, and he made no resistance as Dick gently flipped him over onto his back.

Dick’s breath caught in his throat.

The kid was pale, eyes glassy as they stared at the ceiling, tears dripping silently off his face. Violent shudders wracked his frame as Jason tipped his face to one side, baring his throat, and made a sound too broken to be a whine.

Along his collarbones, silvery scars stood out. Teeth marks. There was absolutely no reason to bite a member of the pack after the initial claiming, not unless you were trying to make a _point_.

Oh no. What the hell had he _done_?

“Jason?” Dick wavered, unsure of what to do. A hand on the back of the neck triggered surrender, signaled the end of a challenge fight, was supposed to mean _‘no, this fight is over and you lost’_. It wasn’t supposed to force submission.

Would hugging the kid make it worse? Should he call Alfred? Should he call _Bruce_?

Bruce had warned him – street kid, pack-less, and no wonder, if that was the sort of pack he’d been in before, and more comfortable in wolf form than human –

That was it. “Jason?” Dick said tremulously, “Jason, can you shift?”

Jason made no indication that he’d heard Dick. He’d retreated somewhere Dick couldn’t follow, lost and vulnerable and helpless at someone else’s mercy. Dick was pack, but that probably meant nothing to him if he’d been hurt by pack before. Jason needed to feel secure again, which meant he had to shift.

Dick didn’t want to do this, but he didn’t see another choice. “Jason,” Dick said, his voice slipping to something more authoritative, and his little brother flinched. “Shift,” he ordered, his words laced with command even as his stomach churned violently.

In an instant, there was a wolf cub where the boy had been – fur stretched thin and ragged over bones, so small, still shivering, still limp, neck bared. He wasn’t looking at Dick, and tears leaked into black fur.

Dick swallowed, and did the only thing that might make Jason feel safe.

It didn’t matter that Dick was five years older than Jason, and taller and bigger. Jason was a wolf, and even a wolf cub was bigger than a nearly adult bird.

He hopped forward, wings fluttering, his heart thrumming so loudly the whole house could probably hear. _It’s not Zucco_ , Dick mentally chanted to himself. This was his little brother. It was okay. It was going to be fine.

He nudged closer, and closer, until he was a couple of inches away from one of Jason’s paws. It was okay. This was pack. It was –

Dick had never been so close to a wolf while he was shifted. They were so much bigger when he was looking up from a bird’s eyes.

But he had to do this. Jason was vulnerable and terrified and he had to be convinced that Dick wasn’t a threat, and Dick could never do that in human form.

Dick couldn’t entirely suppress the soft chirp of fear as he leaned forward and tucked his head under a paw.

Claws, very close to fragile bird bones and an easily crunchable neck and Dick could see his parents’ bodies, burst open like fallen birds, and Zucco’s wolf snarl and – the paw was moving and Dick was trembling, a soft squeak –

The paw was…gentle. There were no claws. There was a soft, questing sound, almost like a rumble. Dick couldn’t force himself to relax, his heart still thundering, but he kept breathing, eyes squeezed shut as fur dragged slowly over his feathers.

The wolf moved and Dick stayed where he was – he couldn’t see them, couldn’t move, couldn’t –

Human fingers curled around his talons and Dick opened his eyes with a squawk. Jason was staring at him – the kid was still trembling, but he was holding Dick carefully, looking him in the eyes, and the tears were gone even if the evidence lingered.

“You know,” Jason said hoarsely, “I thought you’d be a robin.”

Dick chirped, leaning forward to nip at Jason’s nose. The kid yelped and held Dick at arm’s distance. Dick fluttered his wings and took off at a glide, careful not to slice the kid’s hands open with his talons.

Once he was back on the ground and a few steps away, Dick shifted back, watching as Jason’s expression settled into wariness.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said softly, “I didn’t – I wasn’t trying to –”

“Forget it,” Jason shrugged, his gaze pivoting to the floor, “Bruce told me about your old pack. I understand.”

“But you did nothing wrong,” Dick said, his voice level, “And I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry, Little Wing.”

Jason’s gaze snapped up to his face with a scowl. “Little Wing?” he repeated.

Dick grinned, “Well, you’re certainly little.”

“In case you didn’t notice, wolves don’t have wings,” Jason said, crossing his arms.

“I don’t care if you’re a wolf,” Dick said softly, “You’re my little brother, so that means you’re an honorary bird.”

Bruce didn’t need wings to fly. _Dick_ didn’t need wings to fly. And he could teach Jason how to fly without them.

The kid turned red, the scowl still on his face, but Dick didn’t mind. Even annoying little brothers were a part of pack.

* * *

It was rare that Nightwing was ever this furious, but the Red Hood had been playing a merry game around Gotham, and he’d _hurt_ Robin. Pack. It was Nightwing’s job to protect his little brother, and he couldn’t fail another one of them.

The fight turned to close range as Nightwing tried to avoid the guns, escrima sticks clashing against knives, the fight raging across the rooftop as Nightwing sought to subdue Hood – he was taller and bigger, covered in body armor and a thick helmet, and Nightwing snarled as Hood twisted out of his grip and ignored the jab to his ribs.

The chokehold ended up being more flailing than Nightwing liked, and he cursed as Hood slammed an elbow into his side, his fingers slipping – he tightened his grasp desperately, squeezing the back of Hood’s neck, right below the helmet –

And the man crumpled to his knees.

“No,” the distorted voice said, the first thing that wasn’t an insult, “Don’t.” The voice was too mechanized to show much emotion, but Hood was trembling.

That was an…extreme reaction. No pack-less shifter should’ve reacted like this. And a shifter with a pack shouldn’t have even noticed Nightwing’s grip.

“Take off your helmet,” Nightwing ordered, willing to take advantage of this opportunity. They had next to no information on the Red Hood – getting a good look at the man’s face would definitely help.

“No,” Hood said, almost slurring. Fighting the surrender. “Stop.” Nightwing’s fingers spasmed, the grip tightening.

“Take off your helmet,” Nightwing repeated, flooding his tone with authority. He was the second of the most feared pack in Gotham, his command was strong enough to make criminals flinch.

Gloved hands slowly dragged up, clicking the latches at the edge of the helmet and wavering for a beat – Hood was shaking now, on his knees, head bowed – before pulling it off.

Nightwing adjusted his grasp automatically, his fingers sliding up to cover the edges of dark curls and Hood gave a full-body shudder before going utterly limp. Nightwing caught him before he could hit the ground, pulling him onto his back – he was wearing _another_ mask, he –

“Jason?”

Nightwing jumped back like he’d been scalded.

Hood – Jason – didn’t move, shivering in a pile of limbs on the rooftop, and – this wasn’t possible – Jason was _dead_ – Nightwing had felt him screaming out for help when he’d been worlds away – he’d felt that tie snap – it was a trick, or a clone, or an illusion, or _something_ –

Only a member of his own pack would’ve responded to a surrender hold by going limp.

“Little Wing?” Nightwing called, and Jason flinched like the nickname was a bullet.

“No,” he whispered as Nightwing reached out to peel the domino mask off his face, “No.” Tears slipping out of vibrant green eyes, and a lock of white hair amidst the black, and when Nightwing searched for his pack bonds, he found the one with Jason intact, like it had never been gone in the first place.

“Nightwing,” Batman growled into his comms, and he realized he’d been broadcasting his distress to the whole pack, “What is –” Batman sucked in a sharp breath, presumably finding the same irregularity that Nightwing had.

“It’s Jason,” Nightwing said, still shocked, “Jason’s the Red Hood.”

The pieces slotted into place with a suddenness that startled him – Tim’s strange injuries, the movements on the edge of familiar, the way something had been itching at him for quite some time, a feeling he now recognized as a pack member away from home, lost, alone –

Jason fought the surrender long enough to shift and there was a black wolf shivering on the rooftop where the Red Hood had once been.

This wolf was bigger than the adolescent one Nightwing had last seen – this was an adult, towering at nearly three feet tall, muscle under fur, claws gleaming sharp, a predator in every sense of the word.

“Little Wing,” he said softly, tracking the wolf’s movements as he tensed.

The wolf growled and lunged – Nightwing grunted as he was knocked back onto the roof, concrete scraping against his back as he was pinned down by two hundred pounds of deadly predator – sharp teeth glinted in the air, and he could almost imagine feathers and blood staining it, almost imagine them mauling him open and –

Nightwing shifted, and there was a surprised growl. He ducked his head, resisting the urge to tuck it under a wing, and didn’t move, not even trying to suppress his trembling.

Jason was pack – the Red Hood had attacked him – this was his little brother – this was a fully-grown wolf and Dick knew full well how deadly he could be – Jason hated being vulnerable and lashed out at threats but in this form, Dick could never be a threat to him –

Dick was consciously aware of how easy it would be to break every bone in his shifted form. One slammed paw. One lunge. One snap of those powerful jaws.

A paw pressed on his head – Dick waited for the pressure to turn stifling, to drag him down, to puncture with claws – and slowly, delicately brushed down ruffled feathers.

Dick opened his eyes. Jason was on his belly, his snout pressed to the ground so his eyes were at the same level as Dick’s, one paw curled around him, the other gently patting him. He made an irritated grumble when he met Dick’s gaze.

Dick responded with a soft crooning sound as he hopped closer. There was a patch of white fur right between glowing green eyes and Dick stretched up to preen it. Jason let him, making another irritated huff but no attempt to move – not even when a dark shadow touched upon the roof.

Dick nudged Jason as the wolf tensed – pack, they were pack, Jason was alive and everything was going to be okay – and cuddled close, right next to gleaming teeth, as a gauntleted hand wavered above sleek black fur.

“Jason,” Bruce said softly, and Jason tipped to bare his neck with a low whine.

Dick hopped a step away, and shifted back into Nightwing as Bruce curled a hand in the fur behind Jason’s ear.

“Little Wing,” he said softly, curling up next to his little brother, “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dick: I'm going to resolve this situation by putting my very fragile bones next to an angry wolf and hoping he doesn't crush me.


End file.
